This is the Last Time You'll See Me
by Luna Maria Boulevardes
Summary: It must be love, or it wouldn't hurt this much - right? Oneshot. BoothxBrennan, AngelaxBrennan


_This is the Last Time You'll See Me _

_L. M. Boulevardes _

"_My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees - my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath - a source of little visible delight, but necessary._

_~ Cathy in Emily Bronte's __Wuthering Heights

* * *

_

Part I: 1, 2, 3, 4,

One, two, three, four, tell me that you love me more.

That's what Angela wants to say, but doesn't. Brennan wouldn't understand anyway; she's not good with love, with the slippery way of emotions. She doesn't even seem to see something wrong with the _arrangement_, and that's something that Angela just can't understand. Maybe she should. She's bi too; she understands that women and men are different and sometimes one just _fills_ something the other doesn't even seem to understand. But the problem is that Brennan is both male and female and therefore some whole other confusing thing she isn't quite sure she understands. Brennan told her once that Booth said that she was like his best guy friend, only she was girl. And that's about how Angela feels because Brennan can just be so cold! And Angela drags her designer-clad feet back every time because she knows Brennan doesn't mean it because she doesn't understand, and couldn't possibly ever understand.

There are dead people, and then there's Angela, who floats in herself and wavers, not knowing whether to stay or go. Brennan wavers between Roxie and Hodgins, floating on the edge of her peripheral vision and so dually male and female – and shouldn't that make her perfect? But it doesn't, and it doesn't, and if Roxie and Grayson and Jack are Angela's ashes, then Brennan is the phoenix. Glorious and beautiful godsend – but look and do not touch. Because eventually, a phoenix must go up in flames. And Angela is bound to get burnt.

* * *

Part I: Locked and Loaded

_You will never know what I have done to come back to you_.

It's what Booth wants to tell Brennan, but some how the words get stuck in his throat and he can't say anything. Brennan is putting on her makeup, cold and methodical and wants to know how she looks with this new black eyeshadow. If he were going to be honest, he would tell her that it's driving him crazy and that he wants nothing more than to rip off that little black dress and fuck her until she screams. But he can't do that, because this dress is for Angela. He had his turn Friday night and all Saturday, and now it's Saturday night and Brennan is flouncing off to fuck Angela. God, it's not fair.

Brennan won't take anything seriously. This is all fun for her, a casual little fling that feeds her "basic human needs". And how does he tell her that he loves her, and he would love to see her with Parker, light in her eyes? And truth be told she is good with Parker despite everything, and it always surprises him how she can fuck him and then fuck Angela, but she is always surprising him anyway so maybe he shouldn't be surprised after all. And now there are too many surprises in his head and he's confused and considering lying down for a nice long nap.

"We're having Ethiopian food," Bones says amiably as she hooks silver hoops into her ears. "Do you want me to bring something back for you and Parker? I thought he might like to try it. Angela's been raving about this place in the U street district."  
"I'm sceptical of things that I haven't seen eaten on TV," Booth replies. Brennan laughs and kisses his cheek.

"I'll see you Monday at the latest. Chinese. Nice and safe." She's locked and loaded, flitting out the door with her short skirt swishing and hair looking like heartbreak.

* * *

Part III: You Are an Idiot

"We're idiots," Angela says and Booth can't help but agree. Brennan mixed things up and they're both here together, and she's not there. She calls both, she's sorry. But why don't they have coffee with each other? It seems a shame for them to miss the opportunity since they're both out anyway.

"Yes, but why?" Booth asks, staring unhappily at the coffee. He just got it plain; Angela's has all the frills and syrups and customization. He wonders if that means anything greater – does it speak to something Angela provides Brennan that he can't? He knows he doesn't do much, but God, he loves her! And that's the trick, that's the rub – he finally knows he loves her, and he can't be with her because she's too busy running around having fun.

"We love her. She's our Tempe. Life sucks." Angela's feeling cynical and restless today. She doesn't like the situation being thrust in her face like this, where she remembers that she's not good enough for Brennan – Brennan needs _more_. Brennan who is so cold and yet so warm, who has the most beautiful expression on her face when she's just about to –

"It took me so long to realize that I loved her," Booth says quietly. "Seems sort of stupid now."  
"Sweetie, we're both idiots. And I don't even see that changing anytime soon." Brennan is her favourite. Brennan is her love. Brennan is her heartbeat. Booth is her pacemaker.

* * *

Part IV: Munchausen's by Proxy

At the age of seventeen she was a victim of Munchausen's by Proxy.

They poisoned her. They convinced her she was sick and then pumped her full of drugs until she really was sick and convulsed through the night. She remembers shaking in her bed, so scared and alone and hating this horrible world that put her in this horrible place. And that's why she tried to kill herself when she was eighteen.

But it didn't work, and she found the attention so comforting she did it again a year later just to make sure they didn't think she was better yet and could be left alone. Because beneath it all, the thing Temperance fears most is being abandoned and left alone. It's why she does her job; those poor bones are all alone in the world she can't have that, not for herself or anyone. Bones need other bones. Bodies need other bodies. She needs to touch and be touched, to convulse and shake for someone so that she's never alone and she's always with someone who will whisper in her ear and tell her she won't be left without attention again, to fade into the backdrop.

She'd do anything for attention, that's the sick thing. She would starve herself, cut herself, drink – whatever it took. Sex is less self-destructive though, so she plays Angela and Booth off each other in a twisted little game where they are marionettes and she's a puppet-master, all red lips and big eyes. And sometimes all she wants to do is leave a note on her desk and say _this is the last time you'll see me_, because she can't even believe that anything good could really be meant for her.


End file.
